Holy Saturday,
Apr 04, 2015

My head clangs, my skin congealswhen I imagine your final terrain:the moldering gloom of the cave,giant stone corking the mouthto seal your body in—you bid me to imitate you, even in this?Until you rise, Love, I am useless.Stretching in a longrectangle of wall-shade,I pretend my hand crumblesdank sepulchral dirt. Listen.In the corner, one cricket abides.Soft-shelled and tooth-white,he chirrs his dwarfed wings,persistent song his answerto the absence of light.

In the foreground of Eugène Delacroix’s classic The Entombment of Christ is a poignant image of the disciple John sitting, bent forward, contemplating the crown of thorns. By painting John and the crown alone, Ebenezer Sunder Singh shines a spotlight on this pregnant moment, offering a chance to ponder the wisdom of God which seems like folly to human beings. “The image of the thorn crown is a recurring phenomenon in my works over many years,” says the artist. “I use it as a compulsive pictorial symbol, and at the same time I revere it as the symbol of pain, shame and hope. I think John in Delacroix’s painting knows this secret, so he is contemplating this symbol of recreation and regeneration.” Singh’s work is shown frequently in galleries in the U.S. and India.

During college I was a member of the Flying Couch Potatoes, jugglers extraordinaire and comedy novices. I remember those performances fondly. We were more enthusiastic than skilled, but enthusiasm will carry you far. Who doesn't love a competition among friends juggling five eggs, in which the winner celebrates by smashing the eggs on his head?